Catcroft-The Feline Government
by JulieArchery107
Summary: One day Mycroft wakes up to be met with a strange turn of events: he's been turned into a cat overnight, mistaken for his own pet by his PA and sent to the wonderful care of his brother. Sherlock, being Sherlock, hopes to milk this embarrassing situation to its fullest forgetting that, though now a cat, Mycroft is still Mycroft. He'll find a way to turn this mess to his advantage.
1. Chapter 1

"Catcroft-The Feline Government."

Chapter 1

"Awakening on all fours."

The first thing Mycroft Holmes heard when he woke up, was Anthea knocking on his bedroom door.

"Mr. Holmes is time to wake up." She called from behind the wooden barrier. "You have a meeting with the North Korean Government officials in about half an hour so you don't really have a lot of time to prepare."

He groaned and turned to his side, burying his face in the softness of his pillow.

"Give me five more minutes, Anthea." He murmured waving her away with his hand, despite knowing that she won't see the gesture. "I promise we won't be late, in fact, we'll be _early_ if it'll make you feel any better. I'll be sure to make the cars part before us like the red sea did before Moses, just _let_ me _sleep_!"

While he knew fooling around with the traffic lights was a giant misuse of his power, desperate times call for desperate measures and, right now, after the twelve hour flight from Hong Kong he had to go through the previous day, he is in _dire_ need of a longer sleeping time.

It was clear that his trusty assistant _didn't_ hear him when she busted into his room without so much a warning, to which Mycroft responded by burying his body further under his covers.

He's _not_ getting up. Is five minutes really _that_ much to ask for?!

For the _love_ of _Queen Victoria_ , he's the personification of the British _Government_! With _everything_ he does in service of his country, you'd _think_ he'd be allowed to sleep in once or twice!

But _no,_ Mycroft Holmes who _has_ to be the picture of efficiency and punctuality, was given _Anthea_ , the woman who _never_ lets go of her Blackberry just so she can keep a keen eye at the terrible roller-coaster that is his schedule, for a PA.

He groaned and crawled further into the softness of his bed and the protection of his covers.

Perhaps if he hides under his covers and lays still for five minutes she'll finally get bored and leave him _alone_.

"Mr. Holmes this is getting ridiculous! Get up before I-" She cut off suddenly making the British government freeze in his spot. "Mr. Holmes?" He could hear the confusion in her voice as she looked around. "Huh…no wonder there was no answer, he's not even in this room." Anthea muttered to herself before stomping out of the bedroom and continuing with her quest.

Once her footsteps descended to the lower levels of the mansion, Mycroft dug his head out from under the covers.

"Dear me." He whispered to himself. "Either Anthea's visit to the ophthalmologist is _long_ overdue or my strict diet is having more of an effect than even _I_ counted on." Coming to that rather satisfying conclusion and, hearing that Anthea is still downstairs searching for him, deciding that the universe was on _his_ side for once, the elder Holmes brother fell to the welcoming embrace of Morpheus once more.

* * *

*thirty minutes later*

* * *

Mycroft was just about to turn to his other side when Anthea's voice could, once again, be heard from behind the door.

"I swear I saw him entering his room after the flight from Hong Kong yesterday. He seemed too tired to do much else but collapse on the bed, I have no _idea_ where he could have gone."

Groaning the politician pulled his covers over his head. Unfortunately, that did little to tune out the, surprisingly _worried_ , voices of his underlings.

"We searched the whole house, Madam." One of the security guards said, with a note of disappointment in his voice. With his still hazy from sleep, Mycroft's mind identified him solely as 'Davidson'. It was far too early to demand further details from his tired brain. "I'm afraid to inform you that we have been largely unsuccessful in finding him."

 _Sherlock was right_. He thought, frowning into his pillow. _My present security team really **is** more incompetent than his **homeless** network. At least **they** would be able to locate a man **sleeping** in his **bed**._

"What about the cameras?" His PA asked, the sound of nails clicking against the delicate screen of a well-known Blackberry, accompanying her worried voice. "Did you check them? Perhaps there was a security breech and Mr. Holmes was abducted?"

 _Abducted?_ Mycroft thought drowsily. _As in me? I think you're mistaking me for another Holmes, my dear. My life is **rarely** so exiting._

"The security footage showed nothing of the sort, Madam." Another voice entered the conversation, a young one. Probably a new recruit, since his voice is not one that the man behind the British Government recognizes and Mycroft is known for not forgetting anything. "The last the cameras saw Mr. Holmes, was when he was entering this very room after the flight."

Mycroft could have sworn he felt Anthea's long-suffering sight faze through the door and blow on his back.

"Well, I suppose there is nothing we can do except search the room again." She said finally. "If there is no evidence of him leaving the premises, then he _has_ to be here _somewhere_." With that the door opened and the tall brunette walked in, her trusty phone nowhere in sight.

Suppressing a groan the proud politician pushed the cream colored covers off his body, this game has been going on long enough.

"You don't have to start calling out for me, Anthea." He said rubbing his eyes tiredly. "I was here the entire time, though I'm still quite surprised you haven't noticed me the first time you came in, to be honest."

What he heard in response was _not_ what he expected.

"Do I hear…meowing?"

Mycroft blinked.

Then blinked again.

"Pardon?" He asked, sounding a bit bewildered. "What meowing? There can't be meowing. I don't even own a cat, _how_ can you _possibly_ hear _meowing_?!"

And then suddenly Anthea is right in front of him, or _above_ him if you want to be precise, seeming a lot _larger_ than he remembers her to be.

"By the heavens…" He muttered. "Whatever happened to _you_? You're a giant!"

Again Antea showed no visible reaction to what he just said, she just looked at him as if he just grew an extra head or something equally improbable.

"And how did _you_ get into Mr. Holmes's bed, little kitty?" That question was enough to render the great Ice Man speechless, his heart skipping a beat.

"W-What did you just call me?" Mycroft asked though his voice was _far_ from its usual supreme and all-knowing self. "Is this some kind of unprofessional joke? Because if it is, the local Starbucks is open for new workers." Even to _him_ this threat sounded _meek,_ definitely _not_ one of his greatest moments.

"I never knew Mr. Holmes had a cat." She said placing both her hands on her hips. "I suppose there are things that even _I_ don't know about him."

"That's because I _don't._ " He snapped, even though he knew from previous experience that it wouldn't have the desired effect. "And stop calling me that!"

Seemingly ignoring him the loyal PA reached out and lifted him by his armpits.

"W-What are you doing?!" He squirmed in her arms. "Unhand me this instant!"

"Well…" Anthea said, not paying any attention to his protests and began taking them though the house.

"I suppose that, since Mr. Holmes can't be found right now and I'll be too busy taking care of his empire while he's missing, I'll have to leave you in the wondrous care of your master's younger brother."

"Didn't you hear me, vile woman?! Let me go right now before I-What did you say?" Mycroft stopped squirming in time to notice that they were getting into one of his many private cars. " _Please_ tell me you _didn't_ say what I _think_ you said."

"To Baker Street, Sebastian." Anthea's voice answered the question.

"Oh dear _God,_ you really _are_ taking me to my brother!" He looked up at her with betrayal shining in his eyes. "It's because of the gaming record I beat, _isn't_ it? You're still angry that I got a higher score in your favorite game, _aren't_ you?"

The car stopped and both he and Anthea exited the vehicle.

"Thank you, Sebastian. That will be all." She smiled at the driver and the car sped off.

Mycroft saw the front of the legendary house and his eyes widened, he turned to his PA.

"Anthea _please_ reconsider." He pleaded. "You know what Sherlock does to _owner-less_ animals, imagine what he'll do to a cat he considers to be _mine_! He'll turn me into a _rag_ thinking he'll _spite_ me!"

But the woman was already ringing the doorbell.

It didn't take long for John to appear, fluffy jumper and all.

"Can I help you, Anthea?" The blonde asked, ever the helpful citizen.

"In fact, you can." Suddenly Mycroft is changing owners, from his PA's bony hands to John's fluffy jumper. "I found this cat sleeping in Mr. Holmes's bed today and, since my boss is nowhere to be found, I need you to look after him for a bit."

"Oh." John looks down at the changed-to-a-cat elder Holmes, something Mycroft never thought possible until now. "I didn't know Mycroft had a cat…and quite a fluffy one at that."

Mycroft himself would have listened to the conversation going on above his head, if he wasn't so focused on the ginger colored cat staring at him from the inside of home.

Like John said, it was quite a fluffy feeling feline with icy-blue eyes and fox-colored fur.

Problem?

That was a mirror.


	2. Chapter 2

"Catcroft-The Feline Government."

Chapter 2

"John-the Holmes tamer."

Mycroft wasn't sure _what_ happened exactly after the door closed and the cat in the mirror disappeared, whatever it was it _somehow_ led to him ending up on John Watson's laps being _petted._

"Woah, you feel tense." The man said, gently running his hands down the red cat's spine. "I guess that's normal considering you're in a place you've never been to before, surrounded with people that you see for the first time in your life."

 ** _Why are you_** **petting _me, John?_** Mycroft…meowed, now that he can actually _hear_ himself now he deemed this sound utterly pathetic and unbecoming of a Holmes. **_Explain to me the_ incredibly important significance _of such an action, because I am fully and truly stumped!_** He knew the good doctor couldn't understand him but this bizarre situation was wearing down his usual calm demeanor like nothing else, and the unexpected close contact didn't help matters any. **What _in the_ world _is driving you to do this?! Do you actually_ think _messing up my fur is going to make me feel_ better _?! I honestly don't understand your logic! Petting_ doesn't _calm me down, it makes me feel even MORE uncomfortable! Is this just_ you, _or is this something that happens regularly in your Goldfish circles?! How does this even_ work _?! You see a cat and you react by_ immediately by _petting it?! Why?! Where is the_ point _of all this?! Why would a person get anywhere_ near _an animal they never met?! For the love of Christ, I could have_ flees _for all you know STOP PETTING ME!_**

"Well don't you worry, buddy." The good doctor said in that sickly comforting way he probably uses to talk with children in the hospital, while gently rubbing Mycroft's ears. "Nobody's going to hurt you, you're safe here. I promise."

 ** _I don't_** **need _your empty promises, John._** The transformed politician hissed. **_What I_ need _is for_ you _to stop PETTING ME!_**

"Man, whatever Mycroft is feeding you to make your fur so fluffy must have cost a _fortune_ , I never knew a cat's fur could feel so silky and soft..." John said as he ran his hand through Mycroft's back again, making the poor Government official fight to hide a flinch. "It feels as if I'm touching a real lion…"

 ** _Oh I'm_** **sure _it does._** The cat meowed, helplessly pawing at the man's legs to try and get out. **_Alright you had your fun, now let go of me!_** He didn't want to do anything to hurt his little brother's best, and only, friend but if this…touching continues he will have no choice but to use what nature equipped him with, to protect what was left of his dignity.

Pity John was too occupied with burying his hands deeper and deeper in Mycroft's fur to notice the poor creature's discomfort.

"And you're a bit plumpy too, almost like a teddy bear." The doctor laughed softly. "I can see why dear old Mycroft would want to keep you around."

 ** _Oh really?_** Said man-now-cat meowed grumpily. **_Do enlighten me then, because I myself am not sure why people are so ready to believe that I have a secret_ cat _!_**

"Though you're loud now I'm sure you're much calmer in his company." John began. "Mycroft is not a people person, according to his brother he hates anyone who doesn't have the same level of intelligence that he has which, unfortunately, means everyone but his mirror reflection." The doctor shook his head and began rubbing the ginger cat behind the ears.

 ** _Those are lies! Except the intelligence part, but otherwise lies!_** Mycroft thought angrily, not realizing that he began to relax in response to John's touch. **_I do like_ some _people, Anthea for example, and am_ perfectly _able to tolerate goldfish…when they're not utter_ idiots _._**

"But no man is an island, not even the great Mycroft Holmes. We are heard animals at heart, we _need_ company. And, as much as he likes to pretend he has an ice block instead of a certain blood pumping organ and act as if he's 'way to intelligent to waste his time on us puny humans', even _he_ has to vent his frustrations to _somebody_."

 ** _I don't_** **need _a_ somebody _._** Mycroft thought turning on his back to allow John access to his belly. **_I don't even need a bloody_ cat _, I have_ Siri _for that sort of thing. Forget_ pets _, the_ I-phone _is a man's best friend these days, John._** He then purred. **_Mmm…this is actually pretty nice…_**

"I suppose that somebody is you, huh buddy?" Sherlock's friend smiled, seeing the cat relax. "That giant mansion probably has a large room with a fireplace where the two of you sit and watch the flames turn wood into coal, after long days in the office."

 ** _The_** **last _time I was able to do_ that _, was when I was still doing field duty for MI6 and recovering from a serious wound._** The cat yawned stretching his long legs. **_It may_ look _easy but running an entire country on your own, is_ not _a walk in the park. Especially when most of the country leaders can't do_ anything _without consulting it with you_ first _._** Had he been still human, Mycroft would have scoffed. **_It's as if all those men lost their_ brains _when they finally got into power._**

"I wonder what he called you though…" The cat could feel the doctor feel around his neck for a collar. "Unfortunately you don't seem to have come with a nametag and Anthea only just discovered your existence today, so I'm clueless as to what to call you."

 ** _If you absolutely_** **must _call me_ something _, can't we just stick with 'Cat'?_** One of his blue eyes opened and looked at John. **_Nobody calls their cat 'Cat'. It will be original…and_ not _embarrassing._**

"Well…I can't just call you 'Cat' or 'Buddy' all the time."

 ** _And why, the bloody hell, not?!_**

"Mycroft is a brit through and through so I'm sure he named you something distinctly British, like 'Robert' or 'Paxton' or 'William'."

 ** _Brit I may be, but I would_** **not _give a_ human _name to an_ animal _._** The eye closed and Mycroft yawned. **_If I_ really _had a cat I'd call it 'Dog'._**

"Hmmm…how about Dave?"

 ** _No._**

"Nah, that's not it." The doctor shook his head. "Perhaps…Alfred?"

 **Definitely _not_**.

"Nope, can't see him naming you that either." John frowned, thinking long and hard about the issue. "Maybe…Simon?"

 ** _Can we just go back to calling me 'Buddy', already?_** Mycroft groaned and rolled his eyes. **_It would save us both_ time _and_ embarrassment _._**

"No, it doesn't have a Mycroftian feel to it, gotta be something else…"

 ** _It doesn't have a_** **what _?_**

"It has to be something clever yet simple, original yet old school…something like-"

"Mikey!" Another voice, well known to the both of them, cut in the middle of John's statement.

Both the doctor and the human-turned-cat looked at the direction of the door where the one and only, Sherlock Homes stood, watching the two and grinning like a maniac.

"Glad you returned, Sherlock." John said, ignoring the interruption. "Anthea visited a few minutes ago and left us Mycroft's cat, since he supposedly is nowhere to be found and there is nobody else to take of him." The doctor paused for a moment. "Did _you_ know your brother had a cat, Sherlock?"

But the detective was not listening to him at all.

He was instead staring right into Mycroft's eyes, his grin still in place.

That smile said two things:

 _I know it's you, brother-mine_.

And:

 _I am going to enjoy this._


	3. Chapter 3

"Catcroft-The Feline Government."

Chapter 3

"Strange discussions."

"Mikey?" John asked, ignoring how his flat-mate is looking at the poor ginger cat as if it granted him entrance to some kind of 'Murder Galore'. "You really think your brother called his cat after _himself_ and not, for example, Napoleon or Alexander?"

"Being the lazy git that he is?" Sherlock pretended to consider it, his eyes not leaving that of his brother. "Not likely."

"Oh come on, Sherlock." John rolled his eyes. "Your brother may not be _Consulting Detective_ material, but _that_ doesn't mean he's _lazy_. He controls an entire _country,_ if one is to believe what you say about him, for crying out loud! He probably does more during his typical _day_ than _you_ do in a _month_."

 ** _Dr. Watson,_** The cat on the blond man's knees looked up at him with something akin to admiration and began to purr. **_I think you just became my favorite goldfi-er-human._**

Sherlock, rather predictably, snorts.

"Please, John." The detective said. "We both know that all he does is manipulate politicians and presidents to do his bidding during meetings, and it's actually _Anthea_ who handles the 'work' part of the job." He raised a challenging eyebrow. "Don't tell me you actually believed otherwise."

After a few minutes of thinking about it himself, the doctor relents.

"Point taken, I guess." He says with a sight.

 ** _Really John?!_** Mycroft was nothing short of outraged at the abrupt change of sides. **_I can't help but feel a bit betrayed here, doctor. What kind of a 'soldier' puts up so little a_ fight _?! Just because he's a self-proclaimed 'Sociopath' that can solve crimes at half the time the police department can, it_ doesn't _mean my baby brother's deductions are_ always _spot on! Don't you think I could have, oh I don't know,_ misled _him into thinking I'm lazy?_ Who _do you think_ taught _him how to 'deduce'? I think if anyone could be able to trick him into believing in something that isn't true, it would be_ me _!_**

Then, unexpectedly, Sherlock begins laughing so hard he can barely stand.

Mycroft instantly rounds on him, his muzzle looking like a mix between the Grumpy cat meme and his Iceman glare.

 ** _And what are_** **you _laughing at, you_ prat _?!_**

John, it seems, has similar questions in his head.

"Sherlock?" He asked raising an eyebrow in mild-confusion since he's already used to his best friend's sporadic, and sometimes, nonsensical behavior. "Why are you laughing? You're not on drugs again, are you?" The doctor narrowed his eyes at the younger Holmes.

"Oh John" The detective managed to wheeze out between laughs. "If only…if only you knew!" Before he dropped to the ground giggling like crazy.

"Know what?" After another minute John lost his temper. "Sherlock! Stop acting like a madman worth of Moriarty and explain yourself!"

Sherlock, still chuckling, looked up at the two sitting on the armchair and was about to say something, when his eyes locked with those of his cat-big brother.

 ** _You tell him_** **anything _about this and, I_ swear, _you'll be back in rehab faster than you can say 'It's for a case'!_** Mycroft was openly sending _daggers_ towards his laughing baby brother, now. **_Not even_ John _is guidable enough to believe you if you say I have been turned into a cat!_**

Sherlock looked away from the glaring eyes of his big brother and smirked at this best friend.

"Oh I would _love_ to do _just_ that, John." He said, grin still in place. "But I don't think _Mikey_ would like that very much."

 ** _You can bet that screechy-piece-wood-you-call-violin that it_** **won't _end_ well _for you!_** Mycroft hissed a mighty hiss. **_And stop calling me 'Mikey'! I'd rather you call me 'Cat'! What's wrong with the name 'Cat'?! Why don't you people just call me 'Cat'?!_**

"I don't really think a _cat_ has any say in the matter, Sherlock." The doctor pressed on, oblivious to the silent conversation going on between the two brothers.

"Oh you'd be surprised on what this _kitty_ can do." The detective's eyes were glinting with mirth. "People _do_ say cats are meant to _take over the world_ , after all." He smiled a Cheshire cat style smile. "Who knows? Maybe Mycroft _isn't_ the British Government and his cat Mikey, is? I honestly wouldn't be surprised if that was the case."

 ** _One more word, Sherlock._** Mycroft's fox colored fur began standing on its edges. **One _more_ word _that hints at my current condition in_ any way _at_ all _, and you're going back to the Rehabilitation Facility!_** He then narrowed his blue eyes at his baby brother further. **_You_ know _I'm not one to waste my breath on_ pointless _threats._**

"Sherlock, for the love of _God_ , stop acting like an _idiot_ and start making sense!"

At that the detective _immediately_ became serious again, staring at his best friend in disbelief.

"Did you just call me 'stupid', John?" He whispered, eyes wide in shock.

Both Mycroft and the good doctor rolled their eyes in unison.

"Well you _are_ insinuating that our _great county_ is being run by a _cat_ that belongs to your older brother." John dead-panned. "Forgive me, oh great Sherlock Holmes, for _not_ taking what you say seriously right now."

The detective scoffed and stood up.

" _Jesus_ John, can't you take a _joke_?" He snapped brushing off the invisible dust from his beloved coat.

"Oh so that was _your_ take on _jokes_ , mate?" The doctor, Mycroft realized, was on a _roll_ now. "Bloody _hell,_ go back to Comedian School, Sherlock! You _clearly_ didn't master whatever that was they gave you for homework! Maybe you should try 'knock-knock' jokes first? They seem to be on your level of comedic possibilities right now." John looked smug and proud of himself for that one.

Mycroft was proud of him too. Truly. The look on his little brother's face just now, almost made him forgive the surgeon for failing to defend him a few minutes earlier. _Almos_ t.

Unfortunately, Sherlock saw the cat's attempts at laughter (it sounded more like he was choking, to be honest) and fixated him with the clearest 'I-will-make-you-regret-this' look.

"Alright John, you had your fun." He snapped at his blogger. "I believe our new 'space occupant' is in need of specific food, isn't he?" It wasn't really a question. "So make yourself useful and go to the supermarket, because I am _not_ giving him the mice I caught for my latest experiment."

John rolled his eyes shook his head and Mycroft was sure he _won't_ comply too his brother's cranky wishes.

He did, after all, act like a spoiled brat that doesn't know how to take a bit of criticism.

Surely such behavior _isn't_ about to get rewarded with the doctors obedience?

"Fine. I was about to go get milk anyway." John stood up and placed the confused cat on the warmed up armchair before going to the entrance. "He better _not_ be broken when I come back, Sherlock."

And he was gone.

Mycroft looked from the door to the angry form of his baby brother and swallowed.

 ** _I stand corrected._**


	4. Chapter 4

"Catcroft-The Feline Government."

Chapter 4

"Mycroft's humiliation round."

Swallowing down the knot that materialized on his throat the fox-colored cat continued looking into Sherlock's eyes, which changed from angry and resenting to 'foreshadowing-a-unpleasant-situation' with that mischievous gleam shining in them.

Upon seeing the growing evil smirk on the dark haired man's face, the Shadow behind the British Government plastered his best 'nonchalant-not-caring-Iceman' look on his muzzle and steeled himself for what's to come.

 _Whatever_ that bratty 'Consulting-Detective-of-a-brother' of his had planned for him as punishment it was _bound_ to be _humiliating_ and _painful_ , when it came to their brotherly arguments it was practically a _given_ , but he'll be _damned_ if he didn't take it on with every _bit_ of dignity his cat body allowed him to possess. With his head tall and hail swinging leisurely back and forth, he looked back at the, now smiling, Sherlock Holmes.

When, after a few minutes, nothing happened, Mycroft raised his eyebrow in his usual fashion.

 ** _It is rather unlike you to pull your punches with me, brother-dear._** He stated narrowing his eyes in suspicion. **_You have me exactly where you want me, there is absolutely_ nothing _stopping you from setting my fur on fire in order to test its inflammability or doing something equally tedious to my body, and I am_ powerless _to stop you._** His pointy ears flattened against his skull as warning bells began jingling in his head. **_And, giving your enormous hatred towards me, one would think you'd_ jump _for an opportunity like this._** Mycroft could feel his claws dig into the cushion he was sitting on from the tension. **_Why aren't you_ taking _it?_**

Sherlock actually smiled _wider_.

"Cutting to the chase are we, brother-dear?" He sneakered at the tensing animal before him. "Are you really _so_ deprived of excitement in your office life that you can't handle a _little_ bit of tension?" Sherlock shook his head. "That is so pathetic, _Myc_." The once endearing nickname bestowed upon him by the most important person in his life, was spat out like a _curse_ with so much _venom_ by that very same person, the elder Holmes nearly blistered. "What would your beloved _Queen_ say if she could see you _now_?" He asked with the same condescending tone he usually used when dealing with his older brother, but Mycroft was not having _any_ of it today.

If he was going to be on the receiving end of Sherlock's wrath and thirst for revenge, fine, so be it. It wouldn't be the first time he was burned by his brother's fiery anger. But at _least_ let it begin and end _fairly_ quickly.

Mycroft Holmes had enough on his plate as it _was_ , to worry about his little brother's temper tantrums.

 ** _I don't have_** **time _for your silly_ games _, Sherlock._** His body movement seemed to say. **_So why don't you just give_ in _to your desire to hurt me, and be done with it?_**

"Hurt you?" Sherlock acted as if he was offended by that statement. "Oh _no_ , Brother-mine, I never intended to _hurt_ you _._ I was aiming more towards- _"_ The detective hid his right hand behind his back and took a small step towards him. "- _humiliating_ you and watching you _squirm_ , if you catch my flow." Another step was made.

 ** _I'm afraid you're a little late to_** **that _party, little brother._** Mycroft backed away a bit, his blue eyes not leaving the hidden hand, wary of whatever it now contained. **_Whoever managed to change my appearance to that of a flee-infested, rat-chasing_ animal _, humiliated me_ far _more than you_ ever _could._** And for that he will _pay_. The cat promised in its heart, his mind already identifying his enemy as a male suspect. With his _life_ , _job_ and _whatever_ he holds dear!

"Oh but Mycroft…" The detective smiled, now nearly directly before him. "I can make it _so_ much _worse…"_

He then pulled out his hand from behind his back revealing…

…A blue ball of yearn.

At first all Mycroft did was stare at the folded strings unblinkingly, caught off guard by its unexpected and, kind of anticlimactic, appearance completely out of the blue.

 ** _Is…that all?_** He looked up at his brother with questioning eyes. **_I get turned into a_ cat _and_ all _you can think of to humiliate me more than I already_ am _, is throwing a ball of_ yearn _at me?_** The cat actually let out a chuckle (or what was intended to sound like one, anyway). **_My, my, little brother how_ cliché _of you._** He shook his furry head. **_Perhaps allowing you to live in the constant company of Goldfish wasn't such a good idea after all. You are already beginning to think like them thanks to simply being_ near _them,_ God _only knows what will happen if they'll begin showing them their favorite_ sitcoms _._**

"So you're saying you are, in fact, _immune_ to the power of the 'Yearn Ball'?" Sherlock asked, seemingly ignoring his older brother's jabs.

Mycroft rolled his eyes at the sheer _audacity_ of the question.

 ** _Of_** **course _I am, Sherlock._** He huffed, his fluffy tail waving left and right, reflecting his annoyance. **_I may_ look _like a_ mindless _animal but that doesn't mean I_ am _one._** He even looked away from the toy to prove his point. ** _My mind is_ just _as capable in taking you down in playing deductions as it was_ before _this bizarre change, thank you very mu-_**

And then Sherlock let the ball of yearn hit the ground.

Mycroft was on it before the junior Holmes was ready with his telephone.

 ** _Yearn! Ball! Fluffy thing! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! Mine, mine, MINE! Stop! Come back! You're mine! Not his! Mine! So fluffy! Must have! Must paw at it! Must PLAY! Get back here! Gimme! Gimmie! GIMMIE! Oh no you DON'T! I'm going to_** **get _you! Where are you going?! We're having so much fun, don't go where I can't follow! Ball! Fluffy! MINE!_**

And he would have played with the blue ball of yearn…if it wasn't for the sound of Sherlock's laughter booming from somewhere behind him.

The poor elder Holmes came back to his senses with the cat toy in his mouth and his paws collectively pawing at it, like his life depended on it.

With steel eyes narrowed in disgust, Mycroft spat out the toy as far as he could and began gathering his appearance together.

How could he lose _control_ like that?! That was _unacceptable_! He was a disgrace to both _himself_ and his entire _family_. To fall for such an _obvious_ trick! He'll _never_ live this down, Sherlock will hold this video over his head for _decades_!

Feeling more humiliated with each passing second Mycroft rounded on the treacherous toy. This humiliation round is ends _now_!

 ** _Listen here you little piece of string!_** He hissed, his orange fur standing on all ends. **_What happened right now is_ never _to be repeated, understood?! You may hold power over every other cat in this beautiful country, but I will_ not _fall under your entrancing bouncing abilities and soft fluffy touch,_ ever again _! Your control over my mind, ceases_ now _!_**

Of course the speech was meant to sound threatening but, judging by the growing volume of Sherlock's laughter, he had the sinking feeling that he just made his situation a lot worse…

* * *

A/N: Hi, guys! I hope Myc's reaction to the yearn ball is not to over the top for your liking. Though, let's face it, how _else_ would a man that's used to always being in _total_ control act when being taken over by his animal side? XD


	5. Chapter 5

"Catcroft-The Feline Government."

Chapter 5

" _Sherlock_ might not be done yet…but _Mycroft_ sure is."

Realizing that the long-worded threat was doing absolutely _nothing_ to help restore his, steadily decreasing, dignity, the human-turned-cat hissed a mighty hiss and hit the fluffy ball one last time, ignoring the nearly overwhelming desire to repeat his earlier actions, and watched as it bounced far _far_ away from him.

Never to taunt him again.

That small victory, unfortunately, didn't go unnoticed by his brat of a brother, who was still filming everything he saw.

"Awww…" Sherlock cooed from behind his camera, his voice sounding grinding to the elder Holmes's sensitive ears. "What's wrong? Is the yarn ball too _extreme_ for you, brother dear?"

 _I didn't know you classified 'Balls of **Yarn** as something ' **extreme** ', Sherlock. _Mycroft spat back with a vicious meow, stepping as far _away_ from the younger male as the apartment allowed him to. _One wonders why you didn't simply turn to **knitting** , if that's the case. Sherlock Scott Holmes-the first Consulting Sweater Maker. _The cat blinked and then chuckled to himself. _That actually has a nice ring to it. Once you run out of goldfishes to chase, make it so, little brother._

But his taunts all went unnoticed by the giggling Detective, rather surprising really considering that, after Mycroft himself, he's the most observant person in London.

"Wait, no. The _extreme_ thing was the whole 'jumping and chasing after it' part of the Yarn play thing, wasn't it?" Sherlock grinned, continuing the previous insult as if his elder brother _didn't_ say anything in reply. "What with your general hatred for all things 'Legwork' and so forth. How _silly_ of me to even think otherwise." He then looked at the fox-colored feline with face pity written all over his face. "Your poor, fat and sloppy cat body must be stinging _so much_ from this _sudden_ burst of activity on your part, as it _should_ you lazy, all-cake-consuming bastard!" He then exploded into laughter, throwing his curly head back and hugging his torso.

The elder Holmes was sitting in the furthest corner of the room, silently glaring at the, annoyingly _unhelpful_ , _stick figure_ made of _skin_ and _fluffy dark hair_ , that he _happened_ to share parents with. A fact which in hindsight could, on a lot of occasions, be the _only_ reason why the elder Holmes _didn't_ just throw him in a box made for animal transport (signed: Brat. Warning: Annoying), and sent him to the nearest cannibal resort, the first chance he got.

 _That_ and he was pretty cute when he was a child.

 _Both_ those reasons one Mycroft Holmes was _seriously_ considering to _ignore_ in highlight of occurring events.

Events in which he has been humiliated _beyond measure_ by _both_ his newest (soon to be _dead_ ) enemy and his _little brother_ , who, instead of _helping_ in _any_ way, decided to do the absolute _opposite_ and, not _only_ kick him when he was down, but _also_ have his downfall and humiliation caught on _tape_!

Though he may have looked cool and calm on the outside, with his tail rocking lazily from left to right and his eyes delivering his classic disapproving glare that he always uses against his sibling, inwards he was _seething._ Behind all that _ice_ there was a _volcano_ at the brink of _erupting_.

His, usually unyielding, patience and calm demeanor was _weakening_.

And, just like in real life when a volcano erupts, when _Mycroft Holmes_ lost his _cool,_ the world and its inhabitants were in _grave danger_.

Those situations, though not regular and far in between, usually resulted with drastic results like: the source of annoyance, be it Prime Minister of another country or a Company of some sort, disappearing without a trace, a war being declared and won before the opposing side had the chance to defend itself, and a bunch of dirty secrets being leaked into the public resulting in the Secret-Keeper's life being sent down a, seemingly, endless dark spiral.

Once the dust has cleared and the survivors could see the bloody aftermath, the message left behind was clear.

Don't, under _any_ circumstances, anger Mr. Holmes.

Nobody, not even _Anthea_ , escaped his wrath once the anger response has been triggered.

Nobody…except for _one_ person.

Sherlock Holmes.

The annoying little brother that _always_ got into trouble and was _never_ grateful for the help that was given him. The _same_ bratty _twat_ that Mycroft sacrificed so _much_ to keep safe and happy, only getting logs thrown under his legs in the shape of stolen information an compromised Secret Service missions, for his efforts in being a good big brother. The same man that was dubbed by Anthea, as 'The Ungrateful Undeserving Little Shit'.

And, while _Mycroft_ was well accustomed to getting his helping hands burned by the detective's anger, Sherlock _never_ got to feel the scalding feeling left by his older brother's wrath.

But that couldn't go on forever.

Everyone knew that, sooner or later, Mycroft will _snap_ and when he does the protective bubble he placed around the younger Holmes will _disappear_.

 _God_ help Sherlock when that happens.

Because that day is fast approaching though, Mycroft would argue that-

"Hey Sherlock, I'm back!" John appeared in the doorway, surprising both brothers. "Oh and I met this nice lady that says she has a case for you. Something about a missing sapphire ring of great importance to her family that only a selected few know about, or something along those lines." The doctor walked further into the room holding a bag of generic cat food, ignoring the fact that his best friend was, for some reason, filming a pissed-off looking cat that showed no intentions of doing anything _resembling_ movement, any time soon. "But why doesn't our guess just tell you about the situation herself?" He then looked back at the door and gestured for the client to come it. "Well come on in, lass. Sherlock doesn't bite. At least…I don't think he does."

At his prompting a young brunette (around twenty one years of age), dressed in a plain red dress (cashmere, a wealthy family then) and a worried look in her baby-blue eyes (there was more to that ring than she let on).

-the day already _came_.

* * *

AN: Uh-Oh! Mycroft smells his revenge approaching! Be afraid Sherly! Be very afraid! XD


	6. Chapter 6

"Catcroft-The Feline Government."

Chapter 6

"Mycroft the Cat-tective."

It didn't take long for the furry Holmes brother to think of a suitable plan to punish Sherlock for his lack of brotherly compassion, so now all he had to _do_ was wait for the chess-pieces to fall into his envisioned order, like he knows they _will_ because he's _neve_ r wrong.

The fact that he could do so while _also_ getting a pretty relaxing message from one John Watson, was _but_ a cherry-on-top upon the, already _delicious_ , cream cake also known as 'revenge' that Mycroft will be serving himself tonight.

The moment his bratty baby brother begins spluttering in disbelief and rage, like an utter _idiot_ , as he is beaten in his _own game_ by a _cat_ no less, will be the only _sweet_ desert he'll be rewarding himself with today. It clearly was better than the dark brown crunchy lumps the sandy haired doctor placed on the floor in a bright green bowl, for him to eat.

It turned out that the lady John Watson brought home, Ann-Marietta Montgomery, had a very particular request to make of Mycroft's little brother.

He was to find a missing sapphire ring that had no real _right_ to be stolen in the first place.

Passed on from generation to generation since the trinket was created, the small piece of jewelry, and its secret properties that unfortunately Lady Ann-Marietta couldn't discus for obvious reasons, where never relayed to anyone _but_ the next heir to the Montgomery lineage. A small ritual that was was _only_ done on the deathbed of the previous owner, so that no lose ends were left.

Unfortunately, in the case of their poor guest, somebody must have leaked the information to the public ear and the ring was stolen before the fair lady could secure it in her possession.

Which leads us to the present situation.

Where Sherlock was walking back an fourth in the living room trying to figure out which of the four major suspects is the real culprit, something his older brother did the _moment_ the real thief entered the flat, but he didn't have to know that.

On the sofa and couch sat the following individuals:

Damian Goldberg, the house butler who has been in the Montgomery family since before the death of Miss Ann's mother. He was a silver haired thin man with soft elderly features and gentle green eyes who, with great probability, could have gained knowledge about the artifact somewhere during those years in service. That possibility, however probable, is quickly destroyed by the fact that the elder man had watched over Miss Ann as she grew up and was considered a grandfather figure to the young woman. Mycroft doubted the man would be able to do anything that would hurt her in any way shape or form, for such is the curse of those who made themselves guardians.

The elder Holmes could relate.

When he's not pissed at the little twerp he swore to protect, that is.

Wendy Flare, a petite blonde with crystal blue eyes and an honest smile on her face, having the position of house keeper. She was the most recent addition to the staff, a temporary replacement for her sick mother, as well as the youngest person in the room at the tender age of nineteen. Had this been any other case, Mycroft would have placed all his bets on her. She's young and born with a perfect disguise to cover up all her misdeeds: the innocent-looking face and big baby-blue eyes to go with it. But, after deducing that the family couldn't afford losing the job due to the father's rather large debt, the poor child was erased from his list of suspects.

Lisbeth Goldberg, the family cook and wife of the butler. A chubby elderly lady with loving green eyes and salt-and-pepper hair tied into a bun, wearing the standard attire of a kitchen staff member. In many ways the information about her was identical to that of her husband: They both started working for the Montgomery's during the same year, with Mr. Goldberg getting employed a month earlier, and they both saw the little Miss Montgomery grow into the lady she is today. Though Lisbeth did so with a more personal reasons, Mycroft deduced, as she wasn't able to have children of her own and doing so lessened the pay that came with said disability. Taking all that into account, the probability of her committing the act of theft is close to zero.

And finally Steward Montgomery, the second oldest child and Miss Ann's little brother. The young man, though a few inches taller, had his older sisters brown hair and blue eyes, though those were a bit lighter than that of the miss. He was dressed in a classic dark-blue suit, not unlike the ones Mycroft himself wore while in his human body, accompanied with a green tie and brown leather shoes. The twenty-year-old watched the detective pace back and fought before him, with narrowed eyes and a frown on his youthful face. Unlike everyone else in the room, Steward didn't have an alibi that would put him in the clear, at least in Mycroft's book.

The boy was obviously sore about not being the one to be trusted with the family secret, if the angry glances he sent his older sibling were anything to go by. Had Mycroft not known about how strong a younger sibling's hatred for the elder could get, he would have discarded it as a possible motive.

But, having grown up with Sherlock for a baby brother, he knew all too well.

Looking at the detective it was clear to the fox-colored cat that he crossed the boy off his list because he claimed to be out with friends, when the jewel was supposedly stolen and there were no ring-shaped bumps in either of his pockets.

Mycroft rolled his eyes.

It was so typical of Sherlock to ignore the obvious answer in favor of making the game last a little bit longer, and normally, the older brother would have let him have his way.

But not today.

So when the frowning youth got up to use the restroom, the no-cat Holmes jumped off John's laps and rushed towards the brown shoes, before John had the chance to stop him. Once he reached his target, he placed his four-kilo body before the man's left foot and waited for gravity to do its magic.

As expected Steward tripped over him and landed face-forward on the ground, leaving the heels of his nicely made shoes in full exposure.

Just the way Mycroft wanted them.

"Mikey! What-" The doctor started yelling, but stopped when he noticed what the cat was doing.

As he were Mycroft was clawing at the right heel with his sharp claws, hoping to unlock the hidden compartment that hid the stolen ring.

After a few seconds, the lid fell off and the sapphire stone shined brighty back at the bewildered humans and a rather smug looking Mycroft.

Once the fair lady snapped out of her shock she picked up the cat by the armpits and sinned him around, kissing his muzzle and hugging him to her chest.

"Oh thank you, thank you so much, little Kitty!" Miss Ann said between kisses. "I would have been lost without your help! I can't thank you enough for helping me find this priceless necklace! I'll make sure to tell everyone about your amazing skills and bring you some of the greatest tuna I can find." She promised before hugging him and turning to Sherlock. "You truly have an amazing cat, Mister Holmes! I dare say he's an even _better_ detective than you are!"

The face Sherlock made in response was priceless.

Mycroft smiled to himself.

 _ **Check and mate, little brother.**_

* * *

AN: I thank the reviewer 'lilo' for pointing out the giant mistake I made, changing a ring into a necklace mid-chapter. Thanks again for being so observant ;) The mistake has been corrected.


	7. Chapter 7

"Catcroft-The Feline Government."

Chapter 7

"To be a Mycroft, or not to be a Mycroft? That is the question."

Just like Mycroft had planned it didn't take long till the news of his accomplishment reached the general public, both thanks to Ann-Marietta and John's blog, now decorated with cat paws and sporting a cute cat-themed music cover.

Immediately after the updated version of the detective website hit the net, its popularity escalated into new and, until now, undiscovered heights.

People were demanding more adventures of 'Mikey the Cat-tective', going so far as to send cases to John via fan-mail for the cat to solve, something which _long_ since stopped happening to Sherlock as it quickly became clear the detective rarely even read them.

And, truthfully, the residents of Baker Street couldn't have had more varied reactions to all this.

Sherlock, being the spoiled little brat used to all eyes being on him at all times that he is, reacted in a typical child-like manner: by throwing a giant hissy fit that would put the brattiest toddler to shame. That consequently made Ms. Hudson put him on a time out in a corner, claiming that if he was going to _act_ like a child then she will _treat_ him as such.

Mycroft was very proud of her at that moment.

Finally the landlady saw his brother for what he really was.

Perhaps from now on they'll be able to see eye to eye…if he ever was to get his human body back, that is.

John, on the other hand, was quite satisfied with the new situation they found themselves in.

Thanks to the attention their previous case has brought to Mikey the Cat-tective, people began sending him animal gifts of appreciation for simply existing. Tuna cans, expensive cat treats, toys and sometimes even money, started piling up in the Baker Street apartment, much to Mikey's delight and Sherlock's rising jealousy.

The blond blogger happily wrote replies to each and every fan-mail Mikey received, scrolling through the offered cases and accepting only the interesting looking ones in the cat's name.

All this brought forth some extra cash allowing them to finally afford to pay for the apartment in full, with Sherlock's detective ways not exactly bringing in as much dough as one would want. Right now most of the doctor's money had to be wasted on food ,clothes and some of the taxes, while the only way they could afford the place entirely was for the elder Holmes brother to cover the second half of the payment.

Ms. Hudson fell in love with the fox-colored pussy cat the moment she laid her eyes on him, making said animal inwardly laugh at the irony.

It turned out she was a closet cat lady (crushing Sherlock's hopes of getting rid of the inferior furball to dust) and enjoyed spoiling the little animal just like everyone else did. The fact that he was supposedly the _elder Holmes's_ cat did not seem to bother her in the least.

She even bought Mycroft a rather large cat tower which was placed near Sherlock's violin (the detective was too occupied with staring at the wall to protest) allowing the cat a perfect access to the instrument whenever he needed it.

Mikey thanked her by sitting on her lap when she was watching her favorite, but rather predictable, soap opera and kindly _not_ spoiling the ending (So _what_ that she wouldn't understand him anyway, it's the thought that counts).

The fact that her favorite customers are earning extra money thanks to their new pet, only made the landlady adore Mikey even more (though Mycroft himself thought that to be impossible, but oh well…).

Not counting the constantly unhappy Sherlock, the people of Baker Street were pretty content with the new arrangement.

And Mycroft himself would have loved it too…

If it wasn't for one incident that made him question _everything_.

One day the phone started ringing _relentlessly_ , annoying the poor cat's sensitive ears because nobody seemed to be in any kind of hurry to pick it up, much to Mycroft's disdain.

The situation itself was nothing special. The detective duo have faced a multitude of irritating fans in their shared years of crime fighting, that could only be dealt with by ignoring them until they get bored, so Mycroft assumed a similar thing was occurring…

Until he found out just _who_ was calling and _why_.

That person was, of course, no one other than the British Government Head's faithful PA, Anthea. Who kept on calling Sherlock's phone to, _politely_ of course, demand he take on her case to find his brother.

The fact that every _singl_ e demand was heard _only_ because the voicemail machine automatically plays every message that gets recorded on it, made Mycroft's none-existent heart, hurt.

For all _they_ knew he could be kidnapped and tortured mercilessly by enemies that wanted _nothing more_ than to see his head on a pike, and they didn't even want to answer the bloody _phone_.

The first time it was left unanswered he could forgive, as they did not know who it was.

But, by the time the first voice message echoed through the walls, it was clear to him that they simply didn't _care_.

"Oh I'm sure the Secret Service will be able to find your master with all that professional equipment and gadgets, they seem to be so proud of." The doctor said when the cat looked up at him with question-filled eyes. "Don't worry, Mikey." John would say. "I'm sure Mycroft will be back home before you know it." He would then massage the orange body on his lap, but Mycroft no longer felt the pleasure it brought before.

Oh _sure_. They saw the advantages of having him _around_ , with all his influence and power, but that didn't mean they _liked_ him.

In fact…he was sure they _didn't_.

Sherlock saw him as nothing but a failure of a big brother that wouldn't leave him alone…

And both John and Ms. Hudson would like nothing more than for him to disappear from their lives completely…

Like he _did_.

The fact that they were so _accepting_ of Mikey the cat made him question his will to become human again.

Was that really worth it?

What _exactly_ was stopping him from staying in this cat form?

England would struggle for a few days without his guidance, but Lady Smallwood could take over the leading role quite easily, if push came to shove.

Sherlock _clearly_ didn't miss him.

His parents never worried about him anyway. So sure they were that he could take care of himself.

 _Face it, Mycroft._ A voice in the back of his head whispered. _Nobody really needs you as a human._

Mycroft swallowed, jumped off of John's lap and quickly hid in the cat tower.

But the voice didn't stop there.

 _At least now people actually **want** you to be around… _

Fortunately, before he had time to wallow in self pity further, Sherlock was grabbing a fistful of his orange fur, pulling him brutally out of the cat tower, running with him downstairs and throwing him against the backseat of a car, all in the matter of seconds.

" _What the **HELL,** Sherlock?!" _ Mycroft hissed when he finally got on his feet.

"Mikey, cat of my brother and...fellow case solver" The brat, of course, ignored him. "I hereby challenge you to a deduction game! Whoever solves this case…" The man paused for dramatic effect. "will be recognized as the superior detective by all parties until proven otherwise."

The younger Holmes was watching him with determination shining in his blue eyes, giving Mycroft the correct assumption that he was being serious.

"Did you really just challenge a _cat_ to a _deduction game_?" Asked the ever faithful John as he slowly got inside the car and gently picked up the mistreated cat.

"I will prove to _everyone-"_

"Dear _God_ … you really _did_ just challenge an animal to deduction game."

"-that what happened earlier was nothing more than a _rather surprising turn of events!_ "

"Sherlock...the taxi driver is staring at us…" The doctor tried again but was, again, ignored.

"I _refuse_ to give you my job without a fight! So then…" Sherlock pointed a finger at the ginger cat. "Do you accept my challenge...Cat?!"

At this point John was fully hiding his face in Mycroft's soft fur, and grumbling: 'Jesus...I did NOT sign up for this…'

Mycroft was wondering if it isn't too late to go live on the street like the cat equivalent of The Godfather…

And the taxi driver just kept staring.

* * *

JA107: Sorry if it's a bit too sad in the middle, guys! I'm still moody after my other ficks that are more...angsty.


	8. Chapter 8

"Catcroft-The Feline Government."

Chapter 8

"Mycroft hates cars. A lot."

' _This_ ,' The elder Holmes brother thought clawing John's trousers even harder as the taxi drove over another nasty bump in the road, ' _this must be hell on earth_.'

Ever since the engine started, everything around Mycroft _exploded_.

The loud rumbling of the four-wheeler that normally never bothered him, sounded as if the whole world around him was crumbling into giant pieces, to his sensitive ears.

The simple action of riding in the vehicle, something he did on a daily _basis_ , now became something so _terrifying_ he wondered why he never _banned_ them in his beloved country.

He couldn't _believe_ he once thought them to be one of humanity's greatest achievements.

Oh how absolutely _naïve_ he was!

Another large bump on the old road (a little voice in the back of Mycroft's head whispered that had he just _signed_ that blasted paperwork two weeks ago, the damn road wouldn't have this many holes in it!) sent the already panicked official into a hysterical frenzy.

 _Where are we going?! What is happening?! Why is everything shaking?! Why is everything so loud?! Where is the exit?! Why can't I get out?! LET ME OUT! SHERLOCK, DAMN YOU, LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M PANIC-THINKING AT YOU!_

Bump!

 _Is… is this thing actually getting **faster**? … by the beard of King Arthur it **is** getting faster! SURELY THIS IS **WELL** BEYOND THE SPEED LIMIT, **WHY** IS IT GETTING **FASTER**?!_

Bump!

 _Are we going to die?! We're probably going to die! There is a 99,9% chance that we're going to crash and burn till there is nothing left to identify us by! I've seen the statistics! The **real** one's that is, not the sugar-coned nonsense that the media feed the oblivious goldfish! That's how more than 15% of UK citizens end their lives! …And most of them **don't** even drive with **Sherlock** in the same car! _

Bump!

 _Dear God, we're still going! Somebody put an **end** to this torture! John! John you must listen to me, STOP THIS DAMN CAR! Stop it or… or I'll claw at your jeans so much you'll mistake them for confetti ribbons! _

Bump!

 _SHERLOCK IF THIS CAR DOESN'T STOP THIS **INSTANT,** I SWEAR I'LL TEAR YOUR BLASTED VIOLIN TO **SHREDS**! _

"STOP THE CAR!"

Milliseconds later the vehicle screeched into a halt, throwing the poor panicked cat out of John's nap and straight into the back of the front seat.

Mycroft landed on the dirty floor with a heavy 'thump', feeling as if he just got smacked against a tree with the force of a speeding train.

Before he could figure out which limb did what, he was swept off the floor and pressed to John's jumper-covered chest.

"Sherlock!" The blonde doctor scowled while stepping out of the car. "What's the big deal?! Mikey could have gotten hurt!"

But the detective did what he does best, which is ignoring John, and deciding to dramatically turn around and point at the orange cat in the doctor's arms, instead.

"I challenge you to finish this case before I do… _cat_!" Sherlock yelled at the top of his lungs before spinning round and running towards the nearest building, presumably to where his clients were.

The elder brother might have called the younger one out for cheating, if he actually _gave_ a shadow of a damn about this whole challenge thing, at this very moment.

Which he didn't.

At all.

Mycroft was in the middle of forcing his head to stop spinning from the hit he took, when he heard John sigh.

"I am not paid enough for this." Suddenly the elder Holmes felt himself get lowered to the ground. "Wait here, Mikey, I'll go see if the villagers are willing to spare some cat food for you, wait here."

The _second_ his orange paws touched the ground, Mycroft fell to his belly and _hugged_ it.

' _Oh thank whatever entity is ruling this world, solid ground! I've never been so happy to be face-to-face with it, in my entire life_.' Almost not realizing it, the fox-colored cat rolled around in the dirt in pure happiness. ' _Ah it feels so **good** to be safely on my own limbs, free of the giant metal prison that shakes and is constantly loud, and smells rather folly.' _ Then he jumped to his paws and begun hissing at the vehicle he rode no more than ten minutes ago.

' _DAMN **CARS**! I'LL HAVE YOU **BANNED** FROM THIS BEAUTIFUL COUNTRY IF IT'S THE **LAST** THING I DO! YOU THINK I'M NOT **AWARE** OF HOW MUCH **LIVES** YOU TAKE EVERY MONTH?! OR HOW MUCH THE CITIZENS OF THE UNITED KINGDOM **PAY** FOR THE ROADS YOU TRAVEL ON?! I MIGHT HAVE BEEN BLIND TO YOUR TRUE NATURE BEFORE, BUT **NO MORE**! YOU WILL **NOT** TORTURE ANOTHER HUMAN OR CAT, **EVER AGAIN**!' _

' _I feel you, dude_.' A voice said to the raging cat's left, but Mycroft was too consumed by his newfound rage to pay attention.

' _BY THE TIME I'M DONE WITH YOU, THERE WILL BE **NONE** OF YOUR FOUR-WHEELED MONSTROSITIES ALLOWED _**ANYWHERE** _ON THIS PLANET!_ '

' _Wow… you're really fired up about all this, aren't you?_ '

' _PEOPLE **WILL** KNOW WHAT YOU REALLY ARE, I'LL MAKE **SURE** OF IT! I'LL DRIVE THOSE DAMN FACTORIES **BANKRUPT** , AND IF THE JAPANESE HAVE A PROBLEM WITH IT THEY CAN GO AHEAD AND **FIGHT** ME! I WILL PRACTICALLY **DARE** THEM TO! SEE HOW FAR THEY'LL GET WITH EVERY ARMY GENERAL SITTING IN MY POCKET, AND ALL THE SPIES AND HIDDEN MICROPHONES I PLANTED IN THEIR WONDERFUL ''SECRET'' HEADQUARTERS THAT THEY THINK I'M NOT AWARE OF!_ '

' _Dude… are you some kind of cat king Arthur, or something? Because you surely sound like one._ '

' _I-wait._ ' At that exact moment Mycroft 'human-to-cat' Holmes came to the rather startling realization that he had an audience.

A very furry, gray, and striped audience.

' _Oh, so you finally noticed I'm here, huh? Cool._ ' The new cat meowed happily, his furry tail wagging back and forth. ' _Welcome to Ashwell. My name is Tabby. What's yours?_ '

For a few seconds the orange cat just… stared at the newcomer.

' _You… you can actually understand me…_ ' Mycroft stammered, the realization sinking in.

' _Well… yeah, of course I understand you, buddy, why wouldn't I? I'm a cat just like you_.'

' _I… didn't actually think this would happen if I met another of my current species…_ ' the fox-colored cat whispered. ' _I assumed I retained my ability to think because I was once human…_ '

' _Whoa man, you serious right now? Because this would be really creepy if you were serious._ '

' _I… uh…_ ' The fox-colored cat actually shook his head. ' _N-No, no I'm just… never mind that. My name is… Mikey, pleased to meet you._ '

If Tabby was unnerved by his sudden change in topic, he didn't show it.

' _Oh that's a cool name there, chap._ ' The gray cat said, circling around Mycroft and sizing him up. ' _Say… you came with the fluffy and curly haired humans, right? Why did you guys come here? You moving in?_ '

' _What? No, we're not here to say. We came here to…_ ' He searched his mind to remember. ' _Solve some kind of mystery._ '

' _Really?_ ' Tabby's whiskers twitched in interest. ' _You wouldn't mean the missing kids, would you?_ '

' _I have no ide-wait…_ ' Mycroft turned to his new… friend. ' _There are children that went missing in your village?_ '

' _Yup._ ' Tabby began washing himself. ' _I own one of the families that lost a kid a couple of days ago. Some of the blue humans went looking for the poor guy, but they had no luck. He's gone like the rest of them._ ' The gray cat then looked into Mycroft's blue eyes with his own green. ' _From your questions I'm guessing that's not why you and your humans came here._ '

' _Even if this wasn't our original reason for arriving here, this case is mine._ ' Mycroft said, his voice steeled with determination. ' _I'm going to return those kids to their parents._ '

But Tabby didn't seem all that convinced.

' _Dude, even the blue humans with those hunting dogs of theirs and blinking machines, couldn't find them._ ' He said, giving the fox-colored cat a doubtful look. ' _What makes you so sure you'll have better luck?_ '

' _Ah, because, while they might have their police dogs and technology, they don't have something we do._ '

' _What's that?_ '

Mycroft grins.

' _Me._ '

* * *

AN: You might be wondering why I'm ranting so much against cars in this one. Well, the answer is quite simple: I was forced to take up a practical exam for a driving license (which in my country, Poland, is like impossible to pass), by my parents and I failed. Miserably. And I am very very salty. I hope my rage was, at the very least, entertaining to the lot of you ;)

Yours truly

JA107


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